“How about the wrong crowd," I said. "You getting in with them?""Not much luck," Paul said. "I'm trying like hell, but the wrong crowd doesn't seem to want me.""Don't quit," I said. "You want something, you go after it. I was nearly thirty-five before I could get in with wrong crowd.”

“I'm talking about a little truth-in-packaging here. To be perfectly frank, you don't quite look like yourself. And if you walk around looking like someone other than who you are, you could end up getting the wrong job, the wrong friends, who knows what-all. You could end up with somebody else's life."I shrugged again, and smiled. "This is my life," I said. "It doesn't seem like the wrong one.”

“I want to grow up with my audience. I don't expect to be getting through to the younger pop crowd. I learned that from Paul Simon.”

“The phrase booze and mischief left me worrying I'd stumbled into what my mother referred to as "the wrong crowd," but for the wrong crowd, they both seemed awfully smart.”

“If you want, I can carry you—” “I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Let’s go.”He’d said that wrong. He should have said, “I want to carry you.”

“Nobody, anywhere, has any real sense what is actually going on." This doesn't seem to get a very good reaction from the crowd - no doubt I'm scowling as I say it, but still. I continue: "I don't either, but at least I know I don't. I'm sorry but you people aren't like me." This is me trying to take the edge off. Being friendly. "You haven't done the shit I've done.”